On Monday evening, at the final of the World Darts Championship at Alexandra
Palace in north London, Barry Hearn will take a walk around the arena and
survey his empire.

Like all empires, it has taken time and toil to build, and has not been without its victims. But like any other empire, it is a manifestation of a dominant, singular vision. And ever since 2001, when sports promoter Hearn took control of the Professional Darts Corporation, that vision has been his.

Few figures in sport polarise opinion like Hearn. For some, the idea of loud music, glamour and TV-friendly ‘sportertainment’ that he imposed on darts, and is now in the process of bringing to snooker, is an exercise in implanting pound signs where once there stood a soul.

Yet others pay tribute to him as a tireless sporting innovator, as a pioneer who understands people and gives them what they want. It will not surprise you to learn that Hearn places himself in the latter category.

Matchroom Sport, the business Hearn created, encompasses a dozen sports, from darts to boxing, from snooker to fishing. It is run from a large, secluded manor house — Hearn’s former home — in Essex, where we are speaking now.

It is from here that Hearn surveys the fruits of his labour and dreams up his next wheeze. But it is his achievements in darts that are most impressive of all.

In the last decade darts has evolved into one of the most popular sports in Britain. It comes second only to football in terms of satellite television viewing figures, and prize money for these world championships stands at a record £1million, and poised to keep rising. More than that, the perception of the sport has shifted dramatically.

“The average idea of darts players used to be a fat bloke smoking a cigarette drinking a pint of lager,” Hearn says. “But the new kids coming through are ex-footballers. They’re sportsmen. They’ve smelt the money. My VIP guest list is top bankers, royalty, superstars from other sports. Darts is becoming classless now.”

But the success of the PDC has come at a price. It was formed as a result of a cataclysmic schism in the game, one which still causes acrimony today.

Hearn’s success with the breakaway PDC franchise has marginalised the rival British Darts Organisation body, the sport’s original custodians. Far from building bridges with the BDO, he has fuelled the acrimony.

“The BDO run the amateur game, and they run it very poorly,” he says. “It’s like comparing the Premier League with the Conference. There’s a huge gulf in the standard of performance. The danger is that people will watch the BDO on the BBC and think that’s darts. It’s not.”

Two years ago he bullishly offered to buy out the BDO for £1 million. It was only a semi-serious offer, but it was a stunt that epitomised the man’s character. Hearn relishes a fight, but even more than that, he relishes a headline.

Whether promoting his sports or promoting himself, Hearn is never scared to court opposition. With the BDO version of the world championship starting at the weekend, Hearn is determined to cast his shadow over it.

“There’s a dozen players in the BDO who could do very well in the PDC if they have the appetite to be a professional player,” he says. “If they want to be a pub player, that’s their choice.” And so to snooker, the next front in Hearn’s expansionist strategy.

Eighteen months ago, he took control of snooker, promising to swell the coffers of a sport that had been in decline ever since its Eighties heyday. He met with equal parts enthusiasm and outrage.

Players were as horrified at the newer, shorter formats — matches were cut to as little as best of five frames at some tournaments — as they were pleasantly surprised at the increase in prize money. And yet, there was little they could do either way. They had signed over their powers to Hearn.

At the UK Championship last month, finalist Mark Allen launched an extraordinary diatribe at the chairman of his sport. “The whole tradition of the game is going to pot,” he claimed, adding that Hearn’s only motivation was “making money for himself”.

Meanwhile, Ali Carter, another player, said recently: “At the end of the day we haven’t really got a say in it because we sold the game to Barry, and he can do what he wants.”

How does Hearn deal with dissenters? “Usually I ignore them,” he says. “It’s going to be done my way, that’s for sure. I don’t see the point of ownership if it’s not. If anybody doesn’t agree with me, I’ll try and educate them. My reputation is one of a benevolent despot. I’m not good to disagree with.”

He has never disguised his distrust of traditionalists and amateur governing bodies. “The purists will always want to see tennis over five sets, they’ll always want to see snooker over 101 frames,” Hearn replies.

“But they’re in such a small minority. I have to cater for the majority. The problem with Ali Carter is he’s not winning enough games. He’s looking for reasons why, instead of looking in the mirror.”

Hearn’s approach is to answer the wringing of hands with the ringing of tills. “You need aspiration,” he says. “You need the lifestyle. I need Judd Trump getting out of a Ferrari. I need him arriving in Monaco on his yacht, because it gets all the kids in the world wanting that lifestyle.

"Snooker can be as big as golf. But you have to be innovative. You have to give value for money. And we stopped giving value for money. Snooker was moribund. It was in danger of dying completely.”

Many will never be convinced of Hearn’s virtue. But he judges his own worth not by cups, trophies or acclaim, but by the balance sheet he produces at the end of the year. He cares not at all whether you like him or loathe him. “I’m the best in the world at what I do, in my opinion,” he says.

“Which,” he adds with a roguish smile, “is the only opinion I actually value.”